


The Threads That Bind Us

by tehfanglyfish



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Apologies To All Knitters, Canon Era, Deviates From Canon, Engagement, Fluff, I Know Nothing Of Knitting, I Shall Hide From My Stress In Layers Of Fluff, Idiots in Love, Knitting, Love Confessions, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Not Knitpicked, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Sweet Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Teeny Tiny Hints of Gwen/Leon, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehfanglyfish/pseuds/tehfanglyfish
Summary: When Arthur began acting strangely, keeping secrets and spending his nights with Gwen, Merlin knew it would only be a matter of time before Arthur made a happy announcement. And he was right. More or less.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 125
Kudos: 1474





	The Threads That Bind Us

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out this [amazing fan art](https://highlynerdy.tumblr.com/post/616146697269231616/it-was-a-scarf-made-from-a-mixture-of-deep-red) highlynerdy created that was semi-inspired by this fic. She is brilliant and incredibly talented. 
> 
> I don't own these characters, nor do I profit from them, but I love them very much.

“What’s taking so long?”

“To preside over a feast, the king must look kingly.”

“You’ll hardly look kingly in your undergarments and you’re going to be late.”

“Wait one second...”

Merlin sighed. He’d shown up with plenty of time to help Arthur dress before the feast but as soon as he’d entered the king’s chambers, the dressing screen had been shoved in front of him, accompanied by a command not to move. What Arthur was doing, Merlin couldn’t say, though he did hear an occasional metallic clicking sound. Whatever it was could wait; they were out of time.

“One,” Merlin counted as he stepped around the screen.

Arthur, clad only in his smallclothes and a tunic, jumped to face Merlin, his hands behind his back.

“What have you got there?”

“Nothing,” Arthur said too quickly. “My hand. My other hand.”

“Right. Now show me both hands at once.”

“I’m the king, Merlin. I give the orders.”

Any other day, Merlin would have pressed the matter, but tonight was too important.

“Whatever. Just put on your trousers. You can’t be late to Leon’s birthday feast.”

“Fine. But turn around.”

“Arthur, you need to…”

“And I will. After you turn around.”

Hoping it would get the king into his breeches, Merlin turned his back. Arthur’s footsteps hurried across the room in the opposite direction. He heard a drawer slam, followed by the sound of a key turning in a lock.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Arthur said. “Help me get dressed.”

The mystery of what the king’s strange behavior would have to wait.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

“Rise and shine,” Merlin called as he stepped into Arthur’s chambers with breakfast.

A low grumble was the only response from the pile of blankets on the bed.

The previous night’s feast had been a huge success. The food was great, the head knight had been thoroughly celebrated, and the king had consumed more wine than was wise.

“None of that. You need to eat, then you have petitions until noon. Since you won’t need me, I thought I’d deep clean your chambers.”

“You can’t!”

Arthur sat up quickly and extracted himself from the covers.

“I’m sorry? Last week you were complaining that it looked like a pack of wyverns had moved in. We know that’s not how a king should live. I’ve been remiss in my duties. Let me make it right.”

Arthur, now seated at the table, scowled at him.

“You’re up to something.”

“I’m not.”

Well, he wasn’t yet, not while Arthur was still in the room. Cleaning was the perfect excuse to rifle through Arthur’s things to learn what he’d been doing the night before.

“You are. Honestly, Merlin, you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life. Anyway, there’s something else I need you to do today. One of the merchants should have a package for me, something I had to order. Go to the marketplace and retrieve it.”

That errand would leave him with less time to poke around under the guise of cleaning, but if Merlin could make it back to Arthur’s rooms before petitions ended…

“And,” the king continued, as if reading his mind, “when you get it, take it to Guinevere. Then go help Gaius.”

“What did you buy Gwen?”

Merlin tried to keep his tone upbeat. Many years ago, when Uther was still alive, Prince Arthur had attempted a courtship with her that had crumbled after a few months. Since taking the throne, King Arthur hadn’t shown an interest in any of the eligible noblewomen paraded in front of him. Did the package in the marketplace mean that he had decided to restart his pursuit of Gwen?

There had been a part of Merlin- the guarded, hidden part, the part deeply in love with the prat - that liked to imagine a future where Arthur never took a bride. Of course Arthur would never return Merlin’s feelings, but if they could simply keep the closeness they already enjoyed, that would be more than enough.

He shoved those thoughts aside. Arthur deserved to be happy and so did Gwen.

“It’s a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“The secret kind that is none of your business. She’ll tell me if you open it, so don’t even think about it. Otherwise, you’ll have another week of professional development with George.”

The trip to the market didn’t take long and soon Gwen was holding the parcel Merlin had been sent to fetch. It was too big to be jewelry and not the right shape to be flowers. Though its light weight suggested cloth, it was far too lumpy to be a clothing. He’d hoped to sneak off into an alleyway to magic it open, but there seemed to be more guards deployed on Camelot’s streets than usual. They were watching him carefully, almost as if they’d been told he might be up to something suspicious.

“Arthur wanted you to have this,” he said, extending the package to Gwen as she stood in her doorway.

“Thanks, Merlin. It was sweet of you to bring it to me. I didn’t expect something so soon. Honestly, I didn’t even think he was serious but…”

“But what?”

“Nothing,” she said with a bright smile. “If you would, tell him to come by my house tonight for dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, trying to sound happier than he felt.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of herb gathering. The time in the forest had done nothing to distract him from the thoughts repeating in his mind.

Arthur was interested in Gwen, she appeared receptive, and things were moving quickly.

As the king, Arthur was free to do as he pleased. He didn’t need to run matters of his heart past Merlin. Most servants wouldn’t expect such a thing.

Still, it hurt that Arthur hadn’t bothered to share that he was again pursuing Gwen. During his first attempt at courting her, he’d regularly confided in Merlin, explaining that his father expected him to take a bride, that Gwen was one of the few women who treated him like a friend rather than an avenue to power and wealth, that he was unsure of what he was doing.

It had felt like Arthur had not only been seeking his advice but also his approval. Of course Merlin had given it. He’d loved Arthur then, but understood, at least from a theoretical perspective, the predicament that the prince faced. But now Arthur was king and, presumably, had more control over his destiny. Apparently it didn’t include Merlin, at least not in the way that a foolish part of his heart had hoped.

Did Arthur’s refusal to confide in Merlin mean he was already trying to disentangle himself from the bond they shared? It made sense that Arthur would want to rely on his wife’s counsel more than his servant’s.

At least he had chosen Gwen, Merlin decided. They shared a true connection, unlike the princesses who occasionally came to call. That fact alone should have eased the sting of rejection a little. It didn’t.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

That night Merlin found himself alone in Arthur’s chambers.

“She said dinner tonight?” Arthur had asked when Merlin delivered Gwen’s message. “You’re certain?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Excellent. I was worried she might have changed her mind.”

Then Arthur had demanded a moment of privacy while he prepared a bag to take with him. It had taken Merlin a moment to realize that Arthur intended to pack his own things. Alone.

“I am capable of basic tasks, Merlin,” Arthur said as he ushered Merlin out the door.

“You had me fooled,” Merlin muttered to the empty corridor.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Arthur called a minute later as he hurried past. “I’ll expect my chambers clean when I return.”

Merlin spent an hour snooping through Arthur’s things, trying to locate whatever it was the king had hidden before the feast. The locks on the wardrobe, the desk, and the nightstand all proved no match for his magic, but nothing inside appeared out of the ordinary. He’d probably taken the mystery item with him to Gwen’s. Perhaps it was another love token.

Dejected, Merlin kicked off his boots and parked himself squarely in the middle of the royal bed, using magic to carry out his housekeeping duties. For so many nights, Merlin had imagined what it might be like to be invited to spend a night in this bed. Could he stay until morning without getting caught? Best not to risk it. Anyway, it wouldn’t be the same. In his fantasies, Arthur was always there with him.

Chores completed, Merlin enchanted the fire and candles to stay lit until Arthur arrived. Then he turned down the covers and, after letting his fingers linger on the pillows, stepped back into his boots and left.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

The next two weeks were in many ways a repeat of that day.

Though Merlin wasn’t sent to the marketplace on any more secret missions, his days were crammed with work and his nights were largely spent alone in Arthur’s chambers.

It was strange. Yes, Merlin did occasionally sneak out to deal with threats, but otherwise he and Arthur typically spent their evenings in each other’s company. Now, instead of the shared meals and easy conversation, Merlin had nothing to look forward to but a constant chore list and silence.

He knew what Arthur was doing – it was apparent from the change in the king’s demeanor. Whereas he’d been somewhat shy the first few nights that he’d left for Gwen’s, now there was a new eagerness, a marked confidence when he departed each evening.

“Going to Gwen’s again?” Merlin asked on the tenth night, the words not sounding as nonchalant as he’d hoped.

“Yes. Things are going good. Great, actually. I don’t think it will be much longer, maybe four more days, and then…”

Then a proposal, Merlin thought as Arthur slipped out the door. It was inevitable. He simply hadn’t expected it so soon.

A rational person would start preparing for what was coming. Obviously Merlin needed to distance himself from Arthur, steel his heart and adjust to the shifting nature of their relationship.

A rational person would start finding other people to spend time with each night. Gwen was out of the question, but there were others. Gwaine had been pestering him to go to the tavern for ages. Or maybe he could start cooking dinner for Gaius. The man was old and shouldn’t have to deal with preparing food at the end of the day. George had started writing poetry, actual poetry, and needed an editor. There were numerous kitchen maids and stablehands who had been trying to catch Merlin’s eye.

Yes, a rational person would simply choose one of the above, then gracefully bow out so that Gwen could step into the role Merlin had occupied in Arthur’s life.

Under no circumstances would a rational person try on Arthur’s tunics. Or lay in his bed. Covered by his blankets. Deeply inhaling his scent in the pillows.

Down that path lay madness. And possible treason charges.

Yet that was exactly what Merlin found himself doing. He started with the tunic on the tenth night, climbed under the covers on the eleventh, and became overly familiar with the pillows on the twelfth.

It was on night thirteen when Merlin tread into truly dangerous territory. The day had been long, the bed was soft, and the smell of Arthur was so calming… could he be blamed for drifting off?

Fortunately, or maybe not, Arthur’s visits with Gwen had been extending well into the following mornings. When Merlin awoke the next day, having slept the best in as long as he could remember, the king hadn’t yet returned to the royal chambers. It was easy to swap Arthur’s tunic for the one Merlin had worn the day before, then hurry off to the kitchens to find breakfast. There was no reason for Arthur to know what he’d done.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

The fourteenth day was in many ways the same as the previous thirteen. Merlin helped the king get dressed.

“Have they started using a new soap in the laundry?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“There’s something about this tunic. It smells…”

Oh gods. It was the tunic he’d slept in the night before. Why did he have to hand that one to Arthur? And why did Arthur have to discover this secret? Why not something less complicated, like his magic?

“Nice. Really nice. And familiar.” Arthur pulled the fabric to his face and inhaled deeply. “I swear I’ve smelled that somewhere before. Oh well. Let’s go face the day.”

Merlin stood by Arthur’s side through petitions and a knighting ceremony. He offered to hold the shield at training only to be turned down.

“It’s not right for me to go at you with a mace,” Arthur explained. “What if I hurt you?”

“But that’s our thing,” Merlin replied as Arthur walked away.

He had planned to help Arthur with a bath when training ended, but the king insisted on undressing himself.

Clearly Arthur was also considering how things between them were about to change. Folding laundry gave Merlin a way to stay occupied as he listened to Arthur’s splashing.

It took all of Merlin’s self-control not to gasp when Arthur emerged half an hour later from behind the dressing screen. Though his clothing choices were less formal than Merlin would have expected for such an important night, there was no denying that Arthur looked stunning. He was gorgeous no matter what he wore, but there was something about the white tunic that left Merlin weak. Of course Gwen would say yes. She’d be a fool not to with Arthur standing before her looking like _that_.

Maybe some of Merlin’s sadness showed on his face, because Arthur paused to face him.

“Merlin, I know you’ve figured out that I’ve been keeping something from you. I swear it won’t be much longer. If all goes right, this will be the last night. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it,” Merlin said, trying not to choke on his words. “You’ll do brilliantly.”

“Let’s hope so,” Arthur replied, again grabbing the bag he took with him each night to Gwen’s. “Anyway, don’t wait up for me. I won’t be back until well after dawn.”

Perhaps it was all in Merlin’s head, but the night felt heavy with finality. Arthur would likely keep him on as a servant, but everything would change. Soon Gwen would move into the royal chambers, Merlin would have to learn to knock, and there would be no chance of Arthur ever falling in love with him.

So be it. Everything might be different in the morning, but that was tomorrow. Tonight Merlin had every intention of spending one last night in Arthur’s chambers, curled up in the king’s bed. He knew he would never be able to return, knew he shouldn’t have started this foolish behavior in the first place. But he didn’t care.

For the final time, Merlin donned Arthur’s tunic, slid under the royal covers, and drifted off with his head resting on the king’s pillow, dreaming of what could never be.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

He knew he’d overslept even before he opened his eyes. Though the windows were shut, he could still hear the muffled sounds of the hustle and bustle of a Camelot morning.

Merlin gave himself one more minute to linger under the blankets before he faced the day. There was much to be done – hiding evidence of the night spent in Arthur’s bed, fetching the king’s breakfast, planning the royal wedding. He really did need to get up. One’s luck could only be pushed so far, and it was well past time for Merlin to be out of bed and dressed. At least he was still wearing his neckerchief.

Which was odd, because Merlin clearly remembered taking it off before changing into Arthur’s tunic. Eyes still closed, he let his hand rest on the fabric draped around his neck.

“This isn’t my neckerchief,” Merlin said, bolting up.

“I was wondering how long you’d sleep.”

Arthur was sitting on the bed beside him, eyes tired, but with a smile playing across his face.

“I was…”

“You were,” Arthur replied, tone still light. “And while wearing my tunic.”

Merlin felt as though his face might catch fire.

“It suits you,” Arthur continued. “You should keep it. The purple brings out your eyes.”

For the briefest of moments, Merlin wondered if he was still asleep, lost in a dream. Nothing in Arthur’s demeanor suggested he was angry.

“So how did things go with Gwen?” Merlin asked, unsure of what else to say.

“That remains to be seen,” Arthur said looking away, a hint of unease creeping into his voice.

“She didn’t say yes?”

“She agreed weeks ago. How did you know I had asked her?”

Merlin felt as though he’d been punched.

“She said yes and you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Until when? The wedding? The first baby?”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, turning back bewildered. “And where did babies come from?”

“From you. And Gwen.”

Arthur looked at him as though he had gone mad.

“And your engagement. To be married.”

“Maybe we should take you to Gaius. You’re not talking sense.”

“Look, I know what you’ve been doing. You bought Gwen a gift and had me deliver it. Then you spent every night with her for the past two weeks. You said things were going great, that you’d been keeping something from me, that you only needed one more night before you could tell me. Then you put on your best tunic and said not to wait up. You proposed to her.”

Perhaps this really was a dream, a nightmare to be precise, because Arthur threw back his head and began to laugh. Apparently there was something amusing about Merlin’s expression, because Arthur only laughed harder when he glanced in his direction.

Not sure of what else to do, Merlin flopped back on the bed and grabbed for the blankets, desperate to hide his face. This day was off to a horrible start. Not only was Arthur marrying Gwen, but he couldn’t stop laughing at Merlin and to make matters worse, Merlin couldn’t breathe because something was choking him and…

Warm fingers closed over his own, stilling his hand so that he could no longer pull on the neckerchief that wasn’t his.

“And you call me the cabbagehead. Let me help you before you hurt yourself.”

Arthur carefully unwound the fabric from around Merlin’s neck.

“Here. This is for you.”

Merlin sat up and took what Arthur was offering.

It was a scarf, made from a mixture of deep red and golden wool. As he looked at the haphazard stitches, Merlin remembered the first attempts of young girls he’d known in childhood. The pattern of overlapping stripes was familiar, though Merlin couldn’t quite place it.

“I made it,” Arthur explained as Merlin examined the scarf. “Guinevere taught me how. It’s what I’ve been working on each night.”

“Why?”

Merlin tried to read Arthur’s expression, but he refused to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“Your mother. The last time she came to visit, she told me that in Ealdor, there is a tradition. If a woman wants to…” Arthur took a deep breath. “To initiate a courtship, when she isn’t sure if the man is interested or if he’s been dragging his feet, she knits a scarf with this pattern. And he can decide whether to accept and court her, or he can return the gift and they both move on.”

 _That_ was where Merlin had seen the pattern before. He knew Arthur possessed a kind heart, but this level of romance was unprecedented. Gwen was a very lucky woman. Although Merlin still had a question.

“So why are you giving me Gwen’s scarf?”

Arthur sighed.

“Because it’s not for Guinevere. She’s my friend, but the scarf is for you.”

Did that mean…

“Shut up! You want to… with me? No. You can’t. I’m…”

“The only person in the world I’d take up knitting for. The night of the feast, when you walked in on me, I was practicing the basic stitches. I had to wait on the wool to arrive from Ealdor - your mother agreed to send it so it would be the right kind. I know the scarf is a mess. The stitches should be straighter and I forgot to fix a few gaps. Knitting is harder than it looks and I was rushing. I know you deserve better but…”

Only someone truly cruel, Merlin decided, would allow Arthur to continue down this rambling path of anxious self-doubt. The only reasonable course of action was to cut him off with a kiss.

It was strange. Not an hour earlier Merlin had been thinking about how to let Arthur go. Now he was sitting in Arthur’s bed, holding a scarf that Arthur had made for him, pressing their lips together. It was glorious. It was fabulous. It was alarmingly unreciprocated.

Arthur sat stone still, his eyes wide. Merlin wondered if he’d somehow misinterpreted Arthur’s words.

“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted…”

“I did. I do. I just – I never thought you’d want me back. And you need to know…” Arthur’s hand closed over Merlin’s where he held the scarf. “It’s not a passing fancy. I’ve felt this way for years.”

There was no grace in the way that Merlin launched himself at Arthur, colliding their mouths together with clumsy enthusiasm. But that was alright. There was joy and longing, relief and love. Besides, Arthur didn’t seem to mind, kissing him back with the same fervor.

He couldn’t suppress a shiver as Arthur deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through Merlin’s hair.

“You’re cold,” Arthur said, pulling back. “The fire went out. I’ll get it. Just let me…”

Under no circumstances was Merlin letting Arthur leave the bed.

“There’s no need.”

“But it’s freezing in here. You’ll… oh.”

Though neither of them had left the bed, the fire roared to life, crackling happily in the hearth, Merlin’s magic deciding to be helpful at the worst possible moment.

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the look of horror and revulsion that he knew would be crossing Arthur’s face.

“Here,” Merlin said, trying and failing to keep the quaver out of his voice. “Take your scarf back. I’m sure Gwen will be happy to have it.”

Eyes still closed, he felt Arthur’s fingers lift the cloth from his own. He needed to get up, get dressed, wait for whatever would be coming next. Arthur hadn’t strictly enforced the laws on sorcery since taking the throne – maybe he’d let Merlin go back to Ealdor and live in exile. It would be good to spend more time with his mother. He’d miss Camelot, Arthur especially, but…

The sensation of scratchy wool against his skin pulled him from his thoughts.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, opening his eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Arthur said, adjusting the scarf around Merlin’s neck. “Guinevere is a dear friend, but I wouldn’t take up knitting for her. There’s only one person who could make me do something so tedious. Though clearly I haven’t done enough to convey the depths of my affection for you. And that is something I intend to remedy starting right now.”

“But my magic…”

“Has saved my life many times over the years, I imagine. I had wondered not long after you became my servant and my luck turned suspiciously good. Anyway, it’s not the most enchanting part of you. That would have to be your cheekbones. Or maybe your fingers,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s hands in his own. “Possibly your eyes. No. It’s your lips. Definitely your lips.”

As if to prove the point, Arthur kissed him again, this time with even more intensity than before. They fell back against the pillows, Merlin’s magic intervening to cover them with a blanket.

“You are ridiculous,” Arthur whispered fondly. Then Merlin let his fingers wander under the hem of Arthur’s tunic and not much else was said for some time.

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

Hours later they lay curled up together, Merlin wearing only the scarf as his head rested on Arthur’s chest

“It’s not that good,” Arthur said. “You should have seen the one Guinevere was making for Leon. She’s much better at knitting than I am.”

“It’s perfect,” Merlin said. “And anyway, you’ll get better with the next one.”

“Next one?”

“Oh yes. Didn’t my mother tell you the rest of the tradition? If the man accepts, then the woman begins working on the cloth to be used at their handfasting.”

“Handfasting. Does that mean you want to…”

“Yes. Eventually. I don’t want us to rush things but…”

“Then I’d better get started. It will take me forever to make something worthy.”

“Actually, I think you already have,” Merlin said.

“Very funny. It’s awful.”

“It’s perfect. I’ll wear it every day.”

“You won’t,” Arthur said, holding him tighter. “It’s embarrassing. I forbid it.”

“As if you could stop me. Not only am I going to wear it but I’m going to tell everyone who made it for me.”

“So they can laugh at the king?”

“No, dollophead. So they will know that the man I love loves me back.”

“In that case,” Arthur said, his voice heavy, “I’ll knit you a thousand of them.”

“Don’t want a thousand. Just want this one. And you.”

“I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then. Good.”

☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★◡☆◠★

If anyone thought it was odd Merlin replaced his usual neckerchief with a messily-knitted scarf, they remained silent on the matter. Perhaps it helped that Sir Leon was wearing a similar one, though his was far more skillfully crafted.

The inhabitants of Camelot were too preoccupied with discussing Arthur’s decision to rescind his father’s policies on magic to care what Merlin wore. Well, preoccupied with that and the fact that the pair of them now regularly appeared in public holding hands. No one mentioned the fact that Merlin’s scarf never frayed or got dirty. Magic, as it turned out, had many uses.

Word did eventually spread of how the king managed to win the heart of his beloved sorcerer-servant. The story came to light about a year later when the very same scarf was used to bind Arthur’s hand to Merlin’s at the royal wedding.


End file.
